Realizing something wonderful is over hits like a wave. You’re submerged and it’s a struggle to swim out of it.

Video games are my passion. I start one up, dominate it, and if I like it enough, I’ll go back for more. With developers generating grander visions and ideas, game worlds grow and grow. Additionally, with the consumer demand for more value for their buck, games just seem endless. Skyrim keeps going (or until the PS3 crashes), Far Cry 3 won’t let up, and Mass Effect has enough scenarios to keep someone busy for years. Even games that push players to attain higher scores/rankings like Rayman, Call of Duty, or Sound Shapes entice me enough not to quit.

Before reaching the end, I’ve got to start somewhere. I focus on games that have a strong story as part of its foundation; which primarily means likable characters and a well-realized world, along with a strong narrative. New worlds and people can draw me in; people with completely different outlooks on life and ways of living. I get to be a part of that from my couch, DualShock in hand.

Story only carries part of the weight though. The gameplay has to be rock solid - enough to keep my mind thinking of it obsessively, to salivate over the rewards of completing a task given to me by an NPC. The Arkham games excelled at this by placing objectives on top of other objectives, while having refined combat and world opening upgrades. The phrase “RPG elements” isn’t so much a term anymore as I think of it more as a steroid for beefing up gameplay.

A great game is one that locks you in with an exceptional narrative and inspired gameplay. An even greater game is one that triumphs at those two aspects and keeps you longing for it after the credits role.

I have had these moments. I’ve done every achievable task in a game…and I don’t really know what to do with myself after that. I sit there, controller in hand, just kind of deflated. I browse through the main menu a bit - options, extras, set-up - just cycling through sections I haven’t even touched; in the hope of finding something I hadn’t seen in my 25 hour (or more) journey. With my efforts exhausted, I shut the game down. I get up, march slowly to the console, and eject the disc. It’s weird looking at it on its own, as it’s occupied so much time inside my console. It’s almost like I forget that whatever machine I played it on was not strictly built to play that specific game. I find its case, snap the disc in, and put it in my designated game drawer – only to see it again when I’m putting the next game I finish into the same drawer.

This sounds like a crazy manner of over attachment, but this is what a great game does to me – and should do. What makes gaming distinctive from books, movies, and TV is the participation factor they offer. I’m directly involved in the journey happening on screen, which creates a huge amount of attachment to it. When that journey ends, the weight of it being over hits hard. I’ve collected so many items, defeated so many enemies, traversed so many perilous cliffs, upgraded so far, that I forget there is an end point to it all. It’s a bucket of cold water to the face, but then I welcome the fact that the bucket is needed in the first place.

When I finished my first full playthrough of all three Mass Effect games, it was hard to comprehend the fact that my 120-hour journey was over. I had maneuvered through my last dialog wheel; I had ducked behind my last piece of cover; I’d filled in my last upgrade slot. The story was over and the comfort of knowing the subtleties of the controls was not needed anymore. Yeah, I could restart it from the beginning, but I couldn’t see myself doing that for quite some time – a long time. It’s better to put away something wanting more than getting burned out on it. Doesn’t make the immediate situation feel any better though.

Sometimes, I won’t even give a game a chance to burn bright. With the new Devil May Cry, I felt I abandoned it just as it was getting even better. I was fully engaged with the story and by the time I beat it, I’d collected a fair share of the lost souls, shinny keys, and unlocked numerous secret doors. There was still a lot left over to gobble up and lead character Dante was a fun and charismatic avatar. Nonetheless, I had to let go, as I’d gotten DmC from GameFly and I needed to get it in the mail as soon as possible (in hopes of getting BioShock Infinite the next week). So, I pushed the eject button. I was left me feeling dour, unfinished. In the end, I can move on with my life and not let a video game make me feel any less of a person, but it was still there: incompleteness.

It’s hard to have any real control or order in life. Days can be struggles and a lot of events are beyond our power. A lot of stumbling and correcting – and you don’t get a continue screen. Games are different though. I have complete control. The worlds, no matter how large, are tightly orchestrated and centered on me. I’m the one who decides and moves things forward. This subconscious sense that I’ve got everything in hand is powerful and most of all, comfortable. It’s something that makes games so addicting. Life can be a house of cards, but when it comes to video games, it’s a house built out of brick and iron – and I’m the landlord.

When it comes time to move out though, it’s hard to comprehend. I’ve put all this time and energy into it, but it’s over. I’d forgotten that it has an endpoint. This world that I’ve had everything figured out in, has nothing left to offer. I have to leave and continue with my real world responsibilities, which technically isn’t bad – just not as structured in comparison to what I was doing in a game. The sense of having control is powerful. Giving it up is not effortless.

I never really know how much a video game means to me until I’ve played it for the last time. Those few hours after turning a game off, maybe never to turn it on again, is filled with melancholy. I’ve been embedded in another world, adventuring with a digital persona. Ending that can be bittersweet, especially when I know I won’t be coming back for a long time or even ever. I get one good takeaway at least. That it made an impression on me and I won’t soon forget it.